


The Road Between

by IdlyDistracted



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6617032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdlyDistracted/pseuds/IdlyDistracted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clarke witnesses a tragedy, she is determined to bring justice to the person responsible. But how can she do that when everyone is convinced of his innocence? And how will that affect the foster children living under his "protection"? Can Clarke save the mysterious girl from across the street, or will she lose herself in the process?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The House Across the Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is my first story on this site, so I'd appreciate whatever feedback you want to give me. I've been wanting to do something positive after Lexa died. Something to help ease the suffering of the fandom. So, I wrote a high school AU. That being said, this story isn't going to be fluffy and carefree. It's still pretty dark and angsty... But there will be no twists for the sake of the shock factor, I can guarantee that. This chapter doesn't reveal a whole lot, but it kind of gives you an idea on the style of the story and some foreshadowing. Let me know what you think!  
> Enjoy :)
> 
> And, if anyone wants to follow me on tumblr, I'm Carmillaisthenewfakingit

The intercom crackled to life a mere five minutes into the last class of the day: art. The voice interrupting my favorite class droned the words I least wanted to hear. Those words, in this current moment, happened to be “Clarke Griffin to the guidance counselor’s office.” The teacher gave me a sympathetic look as I sighed and gathered up the portrait I had been trying (and failing) to finish up for the past week- and would have, had it not been for the daily task of “crisis counseling.” As though witnessing one bad thing- which, yeah. Okay. One exceptionally bad thing- meant that I was going to be mentally scarred for the rest of my life unless I allowed myself to “process the event fully and properly.” News flash: the world is scarring. You either learn to live with that and move on, or... You don’t. I’ve already learned that lesson the hard way. Reteaching is not necessary.

The hallway is bright and quiet and long, just as one would expect it to be in the middle of a class. Too bright, far too quiet, and not nearly long enough as I reach the entrance of the guidance office far sooner than I desired. Granted, if I reached it at the speed I preferred, this particular hallway would be never-ending. I turned the handle of the door donned with a plaque marked “guidance” and pushed the door inward. It opened with an ominous creak, and the secretary, with whom I was now on a first name basis, didn’t even bother looking at the appointment sheet before waving me in and gesturing to the offices further inside.

Doctor Kane’s office was as plain and empty as it always was. This guy took the term “minimalist” to an entirely new level. It was as though he had known a world where he had to rely on only the barest of essentials. He insisted if he didn’t need an object for his job, it had no place in his office. I suppose it was also a tactic to keep his patients as focused on recovery as possible, as there was literally nothing to distract yourself with, other than the doctor himself. The doctor greeted me with a smile, as he did every day I had to pay him a visit. It always astounded me how it was even possible to see the smile through the massive beard the man had grown, but it always managed to break through all that hair with surprising ease.

“Clarke. How lovely to see you again today. Please. Take a seat.” he gestured to one of two chairs placed opposite him at his desk.

“Doctor Kane.” I nodded subtly in his direction, making my way over to the chair closest to the door.

“Please Clarke, I insist you call me Marcus. It helps to establish trust.”

“With all due respect- Marcus- trust is only required when discussing sensitive information and, as I’ve mentioned every day I’ve been forced to see you, nothing about the accident affected me.”

“Clarke. It’s okay to be shaken up by this. It’s perfectly normal.”

“I’m not ‘shaken up.’ I’m fine.” He doesn’t get to decide how I feel. He has no right.

“I find that hard to believe, considering your background and what you saw.”

“I told you. It didn’t bother me.” I tried to ignore the anger rising inside me, but it was getting harder and harder to accomplish by the second.

“You saw a terrible accident-”

“No. I saw a murder, okay? I saw a girl- one of the countless kids living in that god-awful foster home across the street from my house. The one no one will investigate because ‘Charles Pike is our beloved mayor. He’s going to run for governor. He’s going to make our state great again’- I saw the same girl I see with new bruises every single day finally get a chance to escape. I saw her run. And then I saw that bastard run her over with his car.”

“You saw Pike get into his car, start it, and intentionally aim for this girl, this... Costia?”

“You already know the answer to that. You ask me the same goddamn question every day.”

“Humor me, then.”

“... I didn’t see the driver. I saw a car, which ‘could have been any car’ because it was ‘too dark to see clearly,’ hit a girl wearing dark clothing who was walking in the middle of the road. Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But I’m telling you, I know it was him. The guy is a murderer! He killed that girl. He killed her just like he killed my-” I cut myself off and took deep breaths to try and retreat the tears that were threatening to spill over. This didn’t affect me. It didn’t. After all, you can’t be affected by anything when you’re already made of stone.

“Clarke. We’ve been over this.” His voice was calm, even. Just as it always was. I hated it. I wanted him to get frustrated. Scream. Yell. Anything but this irritating, unaffected tone he always used. Like anything he might say could be the word that shatters me to pieces. “Pike didn’t kill your father. Do you hear me? The coroners ruled his death as accidental.”

“Don’t need to be reminded, Mark. I saw the report.”

“I would appreciate you calling me the name I requested. I know what you’re trying to do here, Clarke, but you can’t just close off every time someone tells you something you don’t want to hear. Look. I know it’s easy for you to project every bad thing that happens to you onto this one man so there’s someone to blame, but it’s simply not true. Your father’s death, as tragic as it was, was just that: a tragedy. And there’s no evidence to suggest Pike was behind this tragedy you witnessed either. He has a solid alibi. He didn't do this. As for your claims about the state of his foster children- there was an investigation. the kids have all been examined. And questioned. There is no evidence to suggest neglect or abuse.”

“Because he makes up stories to explain their injuries and scares them into submission. He’s a tyrant and a murderer who has managed to convince the entire fucking world of his innocence.”

“Clarke-”

“You know what? Forget it. I have to go to my locker before school ends.” I wrenched open the door and left before he could say anything, ignoring the secretary’s protests as I left the guidance office entirely and headed straight for the women’s restroom.  
The water from the faucet felt cool on my face, but did nothing to diminish the shade of red my eyes currently were. I closed them and took deep breaths, knowing I only had a few minutes before the final bell would sound, sending students flooding into the halls. Knowing if someone saw me in my current state, I’d never get out of the hell that was crisis counseling. The shrill of the bell caused my eyes to open of their own accord. With one final glance in the mirror- and deeming myself acceptable to engage with the masses- I left the restroom and headed to my locker, eager to get myself as far away from the school- or, more accurately, the guidance counselor’s office- as I possibly could.

Just as I was putting the last of my books away and heading towards the student parking lot, I felt someone’s hands snake around my waist. The smile that graced my lips was involuntary, as I pulled the hands away and turned to face their owner. “Come on, O. People are going to start thinking we’re dating if you don’t chill with the affection.”

“Oh, please. You wish people thought we were dating. Everyone knows I’m way too good for you.” Octavia’s laugh was like a breath of fresh air, seeping into my bones and making me feel more relaxed than I had since long before the Kane debacle. “How was Doctor Beard today? Did he give you a hard time?”

“No more than usual. He gave the same ‘you have to process your pain and stop assigning blame where it doesn’t belong’ speech he always does, and-”

“And you left before the end of your session?”

“Just like I always do.” I smirked. I could see that Octavia was worried about me. She was never good at hiding her emotions, but she knew better than to voice those worries, and that was why I loved her.

“Am I coming over to your house tonight?”

“It’s Friday.” I said in lieu of a response. Octavia and I had been hanging at my house on Friday nights since shortly after my dad had died, when my mom started taking the overnight shift at the hospital to make up for the missing income. Shortly after that, our other friend, Raven, had joined us as well. It had become a tradition: The three of us ordering pizza, watching bad horror films on Netflix, and laughing about them until we passed out from exhaustion.

“Yeah. I know. I just wasn’t sure if you’d want to considering what happened last time.”

“For the last time, O. I’m fine. At least that Costia girl isn’t being hurt anymore. Maybe it was the best outcome for her.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But, no one believes me when I tell the truth anyway. Might as well just tell them what they want to hear.”

“But Clarke, that’s not-”

“Can we not talk about this? Just text Raven and see if she needs a ride. Please?”

Octavia nodded and pulled out her phone. We continued to walk to my car in moderately comfortable silence, the previous conversation still thickening the air like a dark, toxic smoke. After acknowledging that Raven did not need a ride, Octavia and I hopped in my car and headed towards a long weekend of leaving yet another stressful week behind us.

I awoke to the sun casting near-blinding light through the window, and to a very sore neck from the position I had succumbed to exhaustion in on the couch. With a groan, I stretched and tried to work out the tension in some of my aching nerves. With a glance around, I saw Octavia was still asleep- curled up in one of the reclining chairs- and Raven was sprawled out on the floor. The sun glinting off the brace on her left leg.

When Raven was born, her umbilical cord had been wrapped around her left leg, cutting off circulation and rendering the limb pretty much useless. The doctors had told her parents she would never even be able to walk, but Raven, as usual, decided to prove them wrong. She would pull herself up by a couch or table or whatever sturdy object she could find, and would walk like that. Right leg doing all the work, left dragging behind. The doctors were amazed, and eventually, Raven started using crutches to get around. Of course, they were a little inconvenient- a fact Raven refused to accept- so she made a brace for herself. It took a few tries, but, by the time she was ten, she created one that could hold her weight, and she’s been walking on her own ever since. Of course, she’s improved the brace a lot over the years. Now, if it weren’t for the bulkiness, you wouldn’t even be able to tell she had a physical disability. That was Raven. Always refusing to let anyone- including herself- feel sorry for her. She’s the bravest, most brilliant and resilient person I’ve ever met. She helps me realize that no matter how bad things may get, my reactions to them are always a more deciding factor.

I walked out to my front yard, reveling in the warmth from the sun on my face. Walking to the mailbox, I couldn’t help but glance across the street to the foster home where that girl had lived.

The house itself was relatively large. It housed six foster kids, from what I had gathered, as well as Charles Pike and his wife: Hanna. From the house itself, you could never tell that something was amiss. Sure, the curtains stayed closed all the time, and it was extremely quiet for a place that housed so many teenagers, but nothing made the place seem oppressive. Not until you met the kids themselves. And that was the thing: there was a difference between the kids I had met and the kids the police interviewed when I had expressed concerns of neglect. It was like they all had two different personalities: one was the stoic mask they put on whenever they were out in public, and the other was a scared kid who wanted nothing more than to escape from the nightmare they had found themselves in.

I gathered the mail and turned to head back inside when something caught my eye. Or rather, someone caught my eye. It was a girl. One of the kids I had seen on occasion wandering around the foster home. This girl, in particular, was one of the few I had never actually spoken to. Her hair was long and wild, a mess of curls that spun and weaved through one another until you couldn't tell one from the next. Every exposed part of her body- her hands and feet, her face, the arms and legs that weren’t covered by clothing- was covered with dirt, riddled with scars and dried blood, and peppered with bruises of all different colors. She looked worse than I had ever seen any of them. Despite all of this, it was impossible to deny that underneath, the girl was naturally beautiful. There was something about her that drew you in, something that made her seem strong and stoic, but fragile and so full of emotion at the same time. All I wanted to do was to help her. To help all of them living in that awful place.

Just as I opened my mouth to call out to her, a car drove past. The girl looked up, and locked eyes with me. The only way I can describe that look was like a deer caught in headlights: panicked and trapped. After a pause, she seemed to jerk out of her frozen state and bolted back inside the house as though the brief connection of our eyes had burned her. Turning around, I saw Octavia standing on the porch, staring across the yard where that girl had been only moments before, a distant expression in her eyes.

“Octavia? Are you alright?” She shook her head as though she were waking it up, forcing it back to the present and away from wherever it had been mere moments ago.

“What? Oh yeah. It’s just... That’s her.”

“Her who?”

“You know. Her. The girl keeping watch. The one I stood right beside while you were talking to the police after the hit-and-run. Costia’s girlfriend. She looks a lot worse now than she did then. I wonder what happened to her.”

“We both know what happened to her, O.”

“Yeah. But no one who believes us. I told you. Adults don’t listen to kids. If they did, maybe my brother would still be here.”

“Hey. What happened to Bell was not your fault. You know that.”

“It is my fault. I’m the one who always pissed mom off. I’m the one who let him took the blame. The reason we ran away. And I let him take the blame for that too. I shouldn’t have listened when he told me to stay hidden. I let him get taken back to that bitch while I ended up in a nice home with a great family.”

“Your mom got arrested, O. And there’s no proof Bellamy is dead. They didn’t find his body. He could still be out there somewhere.”

“Maybe. Either way, I abandoned my brother when he needed me and I haven’t seen or heard from him since. And it’s all my fault.”

“Well. This time we aren’t going to let someone get away with abusing kids. This time we’re going to do something about it. This time, O, We’re going to fight back. This time we’re going to win.”


	2. Welcome To Arkadia High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long. Part of this process for me is learning how to write on a pretty regular basis, so hopefully, updates will start becoming more and more regular the further we get into this story. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter!

“So you’re sure the surveillance cameras will work, Raven?”

         “Clarke. Have you met me? I can build cameras in my sleep. They’ll work. I guarantee it. Any of those kids come outside that house, we’ll know, and we’ll have the evidence we need to get them out of there.”

         “And you’re sure they’re well hidden, Octavia?”

         “You do remember how I grew up, right? I don’t know if _I_ could find them and I know exactly where they are. We got this, Clarke. No need to worry.”

         It had been a month since the day that girl was murdered. Still, nothing had been done to help the kids living in that foster house. Raven, Octavia and I had tried several different plans. All of them to no avail. This time, we were going with subtle, since Pike seemed to be getting more and more suspicious of us by the minute. The kids were outside less and less, and the police maintained an “out of sight, out of mind” mentality on the whole thing. But _we_ hadn’t given up.

         After gathering our books for the beginning of the day, the three of us rushed towards our first class, narrowly avoiding the late bell. We sat in our usual seats, and I placed my notebook on the desk before rummaging through my backpack, looking for a pen. I heard the teacher begin the morning announcements, which always consisted of the same boring reminders about clubs’ fundraisers and upcoming events- so I focused on finding the pen that seemed to be intent on hiding from me, blocking out the teacher droning on about a bake sale to raise money for new band uniforms.

         A few minutes later, my fingers finally wrapped around the item I had been searching for. I pulled the pen out of my bag and started flipping to an empty page in my notebook, when I felt a sharp elbow in my side. I turned to glare at Octavia, the source of the annoyance, but her anxious expression caught me off guard. She threw her head to the front of the classroom and I tuned back in to the conversation:

         “I trust that you will make these new students feel welcome. A few of you will be paired up with them to show them around the school and get them acquainted with how things work around here. I’m told they’ve never attended public school, so I urge you all to be cautious of that and accepting. Now, without further ado, let’s bring the new students who will be joining our class.”

         I knew who would be walking through that door before I saw them. I just knew that somehow Pike had figured out what we were up to, and this was his way of proving just how confident he was in his ability to not get caught. Sure enough, the first kid through that door was Jasper. I had talked to him more than any of the other kids living in that place. He always had one of the others- Monty- with him. Truthfully, until this moment, I had never seen one without the other, but it looked like they had been sent to different classrooms. Jasper looked around the room and caught my eye, and I could see the mix of fear and relief he felt at seeing my face. He quickly looked down and shuffled further into the classroom as the next student entered behind him.

         Following Jasper was Harper: the small blonde girl who had first alerted me to the conditions of the foster house when I heard screaming from somewhere behind one of the curtained windows. Of course, I had only later found out it was her, when she stumbled across the street and pounded on my door. She and I had almost become friends, at one point. She snuck over to my house a couple of times whilst Pike and his wife, Hannah, had both been at work. We watched television and ate junk food and almost felt normal until the day she heard a car door slam and we had to run across the street and hoist her back inside through an open window and only narrowly avoided being caught. After that, she stopped coming over. One close call was enough for her. Still, when she looked up and saw me, a small smile was sent my way before she was moving forward and making room for the last person to come inside what was now our classroom.

         As the last person entered the room, I felt my breath catch in my throat. It was her. The girl with the wild, curly hair. The one Octavia said was there the day Costia died. One of the only foster kids I had never spoken to. She walked in with her head down, her long mane providing a curtain that kept most of her face hidden, and still despite this, I could tell she was much prettier than I had given her credit for. In fact, this close up she was, quite literally, breathtaking. I still hadn’t managed to inhale since she walked in the room. I felt yet another elbow in my side and finale tore my eyes from the still unnamed girl and finally let a shaky breath fill my now aching lungs.

         “Welcome to Arkadia High,” Indra- as she insisted on being called, because using her last name was “far too formal for how she wanted her classroom to feel”- began in a cheery, yet stern voice, as though she was daring them to feel anything but. “I know this must be a lot for you all to take in, but I promise, we are going to do everything we can to make this transition run as smoothly as it possibly can. On that note, part of our initiative to doing just that will be to assign each of you a buddy. This person will help you with finding all your classes, answering any questions you may have, and getting you acquainted with everything that public school is about. So, after introducing you to the classroom, I will announce the name of the student you will be partnered with.

         “Jasper Jordan. Your partner will be Monty Green.” Monty stood up and gave an awkward wave, and Jasper quickly made his way over to his new lifeline. They introduced themselves to one another, and seemed to make a connection right away, giving each other high fives over something one of them had said. I could tell immediately they were going to be fast friends.

         “Next up is Harper McIntyre. Harper, your partner is going to be Zoe Monroe.” Monroe, who insisted on going by her last name- in part to avoid as feminine a name as “Zoe,” and also because of her very strong commitment to the JROTC program- stood tall as Harper weaved her way through the tight rows of desks before making her way to the empty one to the right of Monroe. They were an odd pairing, as Harper had come across as very feminine, whilst Monroe had never been into that sort of thing, but the two exchanged a few words and slight smiles, and once again, seemed to be another successful buddy pairing.

         “Last but not least we have Miss Lexa Woods.” I immediately began moving her name around in my mind, testing it from different angles, imagining how it would feel as a combination of teeth and tongue necessary to make the sounds found in that name. Lexa still had yet to look up from behind her veil of hair, but still appeared very tense upon her name being called out. It was apparent throughout her entire body. What had Pike done to her?

         “Lexa, we are going to partner you with one of our top students, Miss Clarke Griffin.” I felt my body freeze as she finally looked up and I locked eyes with a green that should be too intense to occur naturally, and yet, here it was, in her eyes, surrounded by skin that was just discolored enough to know the makeup was covering bruises, and only if you knew they were there to begin with. I felt her grow closer and closer to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to break eye contact with her. I didn’t even realize she was standing directly in front of me until she cleared her throat.

         “You’re the one they paired me with?” Her voice was beautiful, even with the potent annoyance dripping from every word.

         My voice came out softer and hoarser than I intended, as I was struck still more and more every second by the natural beauty this girl possessed. “Uh. Yeah. I-I guess I am.” I held out my hand to her. “Clarke Griffin.”

         She barely glanced down at my hand. “Yeah. Look, I know the school thinks this is the best way to get us used to public school or whatever, but I don’t want your help.” She still didn’t take my hand.

         “It is a bit weird, but I really don’t mi-“

         “I do. I don’t need nor want your company.” With that, I finally let my hand fall back to my side.

         “Oh. Okay then.” She took the seat in front of me without another word.

         I felt myself slowly sink back into my desk as I heard Octavia mutter something that sounded a lot like “what a bitch.” I know Lexa had been through a lot in her life, and even more in the past couple of months, but I couldn’t help but agree with my friend. One thing was for sure: there was no way I was staying “school buddies” with Lexa Woods.

         Unfortunately, any changes I wished to make in school decisions had to be funneled through Doctor Kane, and he didn’t come to school until after lunch, so I had to at least pretend to walk Lexa to her classes. She kept up a strong façade, but there were still several moments I knew, without a doubt, she was following me to avoid getting lost. She refused to say any more than she already had, or even walk closer than five steps behind me. As intriguing as she was to me, I was becoming more and more anxious to rid myself of the girl who had seemingly decided to hate me right off the bat.

         After three more classes, and what felt like endless torture of feeling Lexa’s glare down every hallway, I finally pushed through the double doors of the cafeteria. Lexa must have followed someone else this time, as she was already in the room, in a group with all of the other four foster kids. They stood close, as though they were scared too much distance might mean getting lost from one another. Looking around like they felt danger lurked around every corner.

         I worked my way to my usual table, where Octavia and Raven were already seated. With them were Lincoln, Octavia’s crush and martial arts trainer, as well as Monty- Jasper’s buddy and Raven’s tech geek friend. I sat down beside them and tuned in to their conversation:

         “Jasper seems cool. We have a lot in common. I do feel bad for you though, Clarke, that Lexa chick seems pretty intense.”

         “Yeah. Understatement of the century. No worries though. I’m not going to let the school stick me with her. Talking to Marky Mark as soon as lunch ends.”

         “Can’t say I blame ya there.” Monty responded. “What about you, Lincoln? Didn’t you say you got paired with one of them?”

         Lincoln finished swallowing before responding. “I did. He’s pretty cool. Doesn’t talk a lot, which is good for me.”

         “Can’t have too many of the brooding, silent types in one school,” Octavia flirted. “So, which one is he?”

         “He’s the one standing right next to the one Monty said was named Lexa.”

         We all turned to look. The boy in question had dark, curly hair, and even though I could only see part of his face, something about him seemed eerily familiar.

         “That’s weird. He kind of looks like you, O.” I turned to look at her, and she was completely frozen, as though she had just seen a ghost or something. “O? You okay?” I nudged her trying to get her out of whatever trance she had gone into. “Octavia? Do you know him or something? Because he does look a heck of a lot like-“

         “Bellamy?”

 


End file.
